


When the Pup Grows Up

by SkyFireForever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Enjolras Surives, Alternate Universe - Gavroche Survives, Angst, Canon Era, Fluff, It isn't always sad, Other, Past Character Death, Post-Barricade, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyFireForever/pseuds/SkyFireForever
Summary: Gavroche survives the barricades. He wakes up with an entirely new life that he has to adjust to a life without his sister and his friends. He sturggles along with Musichetta, avoids his family, and does everything he can to mess with Montparnasse.





	1. Awakening

Gavroche stood on the barricade, singing loudly to everyone around. He had a huge grin on his face, holding the ammunition under one arm. He started climbing higher, tossing the bag of ammunition to Combeferre, who caught it gratefully, Courfeyrac’s arms stretched out to retrieve the boy. Gavroche finished the climb, standing on the very top of the barricade, holding up the small pistol that was holstered to his belt. He fired four times into the air. “Vive la Fr-” he heard a shot go off, he could see and smell the smoke. He coughed violently and was about to start laughing, thinking that the bullet had blown clean past him, but the effort to laugh suddenly hurt like hell. He choked on his own breath, looking down slowly. He hadn’t worn a red shirt to the barricades. Why was it all red? He tried to move, but his entire body seized up and he started falling backwards. He felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, heard Grantaire’s shout. The last thing he remembered was thinking about how being shot didn’t feel anything like being stung by a bee, like he had imagined it would. He didn’t even realize that his eyes were closed before he was opening them again. 

Gavroche blinked several times, the sunlight burning at his eyes. He coughed, the only thing he could really process was that he wasn’t in the elephant. The elephant never let this much light in. He squinted at the harsh light, trying to look around and figure out where he was. He sat up on his arms before hissing loudly in pain. He looked down, seeing bandages wrapped tightly around his bare middle. His first question was why the heck would someone undress him. That felt rather rude to him. He hadn’t given anyone permission to take off his fine clothes. No one should be able to just take them. He frowned, suddenly realizing that he should probably be wondering why he felt as if he was shot. His eyes lit up, the barricades! That’s right, he was on the barricades, gathering ammunition before he was shot. The young boy grinned to himself proudly, he had gotten shot by a real police officer during a revolution! He had helped his friends, it didn’t matter that he was just a kid. He wanted to get out of the small bed and run around, whooping and cheering, but he quickly realized exactly why he couldn’t when he felt a rush of pain explode from his abdomen. He cried out, looking down at his bandages. He made a face, wondering when he could get out of bed. He then realized that the bandages were slowly turning red and decided that it was probably not a good thing. He then patted himself on the back for figuring this out, he was a very intelligent boy. 

The door to the room slowly opened, revealing a girl walking in with a handful of bandages and sheets. She looked up at Gavroche, who was struggling to sit up on his own. “Oh, Monsieur!” she smiled kindly, setting down the clean sheets and wrappings. “Good, you’re awake. I was worried.” she grabbed a damp washcloth from a bowl of water sitting on the end table that Gavroche hadn’t yet noticed before this woman so rudely interrupted his figuring things out. “I was very worried.” she hummed, pressing the rag to the boy’s forehead. “I was thinking that you might never wake up, but I doubted it. I could tell from the moment that I saw you that you were a very strong little boy.” she looked at him with a look similar to pride on her face. “I just knew that you’d make it through.”

“I am not a little boy!” was the first thing out of Gavroche’s mouth. “I am almost twelve years old, thank you very much. I think, at least. I might be ten, I lost count because I’m not good at counting above five.” he admitted, his ears turning red. “But no matter what age I am, I ain’t little!” he crossed his arms. “I am a man! I fought in a revolution, you know! I’m a soldier, a hero!’” he held his chin up proudly. “You should treat me with some respect!”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You want respect?” she asked, it sounding almost like a challenge. “I suppose that me saving your life wasn’t enough for you? Getting a bullet out of your stomach? Stopping you from bleeding out? Stitching you up and preventing you from dying from some infection? That’s not enough for you? I let you into my house and you start demanding respect.” she scoffed. “I don’t care how old you are or how many wars you’ve fought in, I will not be addressed that way by anyone under my own roof.” she said firmly.

Gavroche’s ears flushed red. “That ain’t fair!” he insisted. He was met with a hard glare from the woman and he cowered. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” he murmured quietly, not meeting her eyes.

“That’s better.” The woman nodded in approval. “Now, are you going to tell me your name, or must I refer to you only as soldier or hero?” she asked with a sarcastic flair. 

Gavroche flushed deeply. He didn’t like being talked down to. “I has a name, yeah.” he tried to keep up his tough attitude despite the embarrassment he felt. 

“Would you like to share what that is?”

“Lady’s first. I’m a gentleman.” 

“I thought you were a hero?”

“I can be both, can’t I?”

The woman sighed in defeat. “My name is Florence.” she told him. “My last name is surely not needed.”

Gavroche humphed. “I’m Gavroche. You don’t get to know my last name if I can’t know yours.” he said firmly, thinking that he was clever.

“That sounds perfectly fair to me.” Florence agreed. “Now, let me change those bandages. You’ve bled right through them. You must relax. I can’t be going off to get more bandages every single day. You can’t get out of bed for at least a few weeks.” she sighed, starting to pull off Gavroche’s bandages.

“Hey!” Gavroche cried. “That’s no fair!” he whined. He hated being in bed. “And don’t go undressing me!” he squirmed uncomfortably, quickly losing energy. He sighed, and fell back, blinking as the room started to spin. He let his eyes slip shut and darkness overtake him.


	2. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Gavroche speaking with Florance and recovering.

Gavroche woke again the next day, blinking in the light. He looked down to see new bandages wrapped around his middle. He looked around the small room and sighed, already bored out of his mind. He decided to pass the time by inspecting his body for any cool scars. He had fought in a revolution after all, he was bound to have some neat scars for his efforts. He studied his fingers, looking at each one individually before tracing the palms and the backs of his hands. He looked over both of his arms, legs, and every inch of skin that he was able to see. He was rather disappointed when he found nothing, save a few bruises. He crossed his arms and pouted, sulking and glaring at a painting on the wall, like it was the young woman in the picture’s fault that he didn’t receive any cool scars. He eventually pacified himself by deciding that he definitely had scars, they were just in places where he couldn’t see. They were probably just on his neck or back. He smiled to himself. “What kind of soldier doesn’t get scars?” he laughed to himself. “Of course I got scars.” he decided to wait until Florence got back to ask about them. He passed the time by fantasizing what scars he must have. “It’s probably shaped like a dragon.” he told the painting on the wall happily. “Or looks like fire! I can’t wait to show R. I bet my scars are way cooler than his.” he laughed loudly. “Yeah, he’s gonna be so jealous.” he looked at the picture. “You’re rather boring to talk to.” he whined. “All you do is stare at me. Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” he was becoming quite offended by this portrait. “Fine, stare at me, then. I don’t have to talk to you!” he turned away, facing the other wall, which had no pictures. He groaned in frustration, finding himself bored again, this time with no one to talk to. 

He sat on his own in silence for a long time, being driven out of his mind by boredom. It must have been hours before Florence returned. “Oh, hello.” she greeted, as if it wasn't her fault that Gavroche had nothing to do for hours. She walked over to him, sitting on his bed. She pressed her hand to his forehead. “No fever. That’s good.” she hummed. “You’re healing quite nicely. I’m impressed.” she smiled. “I never would’ve thought that you could heal as fast as you are, but you’ve only been in bed for a week and you’re already improving drastically.”

“A week?!” Gavroche stared at her. “I haven’t been in bed for a week!” he insisted. “I’ve only been here two days!” he crossed his arms. “Do you think messing with me is funny?” he huffed. “Because it ain’t!” he growled.

“I’m not messing with you.” Florence rolled her eyes. “You were unconscious for quite some time, you know.” she told him. She filled a glass with water. “Here, drink.” she pushed the cup into his hands. “You need it. Now that you can sit upright, there’s no reason for me to have to force water down your throat.” she smiled kindly. 

Gavroche eyed her suspiciously, still not believing that he had been there for a week. He hesitantly took a sip of water. He drank about half of the glass before putting it down. He looked over Florence for a moment. “So, what do my scars look like?” he asked eagerly.

Florence looked taken aback. “Scars?” she asked, not understanding what he meant.

“Yeah, my scars!” Gavroche said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I fought in a battle, I’ve gotta have scars!” he rolled his eyes. “So, what do they look like? Are they cool?” he asked excitedly. “They’re not ugly are they?” he looked worried, never having thought about them being ugly before. 

Florence laughed and shook her head. “You don’t have any scars. “ she told him. “Not yet, at least. You were only shot in one place. It’s still a wound. Once the wound in your abdomen heals up, it will scar. Apart from that, you won’t have any scars.” she informed him, running a hand through her thick curls. 

“What?” Gavroche looked upset. “No scars? That’s not fair!” he whined loudly. “I fought in a war! A war! I earned scars!” he insisted. “Grantaire will laugh at me if my scars aren’t as cool as his?”

Florence paused what she was doing. “Grantaire?” she asked gently. “Who’s Grantaire?”

“Oh, he’s my friend.” Gavroche shrugged. “He’s my favorite of Les Amis!” he grinned, all of his crooked teeth showing. “He’s usually drunk, but that’s okay because he’s fun about it! He isn’t a mean drunk.” he laughed. “He taught me how to play poker! He always gives me a coin when he can spare it and he lets me drink a sip of wine whenever I want!” he beamed. “He’s the best! He’s tall and has pretty dark skin and curly hair. He’s got an almost beard and he smells kinda funny.” he admitted. “But he can do anything! He can fight, he can paint, he can dance! He’s really cool!” 

Florence looked at Gavroche with a sadness in her eyes. “Was he fighting on those barricades?” she asked gently. 

Gavroche nodded happily. “Yep! Actually, I think he’s the one who caught me when I fell!” he realized. “He was there drinking and laughing. He held me when my sister…” he trailed off, looking suddenly sad. “He held me when ‘Ponine got shot.” he said gently. 

Florence took Gavroche’s hand gently and squeezed. “It’s alright.” she said softly. “It’s okay to be sad.” she rubbed small circles on the back of his hand with her thumb in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. “Did you know a lot of the boys who fought?” she asked quietly.

Gavroche nodded. “Yeah, I know all of them!” he smiled. “There’s Enjolras, he’s kinda scary. He’s tall and blond and usually wearing red. He shouts a lot. The revolution was his idea. He likes being angry.” he laughed. “Combeferre is really smart. He likes moths, I think.” he shrugged. “Courfeyrac is my second favorite! He’s really friendly and funny!” he beamed. “Joly is always worried about everything. Bossuet is really clumsy. Prouvaire is soft and sweet. Bahorel is loud. Feuilly is usually working on something.” he explained. “They’re Les Amis de L’ABC.” he sounded so proud. “They’re my family.” 

Florence smiled as Gavroche described his friends. “They sound wonderful.” she said gently.

“They are!” Gavroche nodded quickly. “You should meet them someday!” he said happily. “I can introduce you to all of them!”

Florence looked at the boy with such a look of pity. “Yes. We should do that.” she said, kissing the top of his head. “Now, you lay back. I’m going to fix you some food.” she stood up and left the room.

Gavroche leaned back, thinking of his friends and wondering when he’d see them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that nothing much has happened yet, but the next chapter will hopefully be when things really start to happen.


End file.
